


His Story

by MagicQuill42



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Mourning, Pride!Roman AU, Roman uses a sword at one point, Self depreciation, but with the possibility of a happy ending.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 07:06:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16908402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicQuill42/pseuds/MagicQuill42
Summary: Roman’s hiding a secret. He has been for years. Although, that’s sort of been his job lately. Ever since Creativity died, that is.





	His Story

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been going through old WIPs to see what’s worth finishing and came across a fully finished story based on the Pride!Roman thing that was circling a while back. I guess past me just never had the guts to post it?? Luckily present me has no such qualms. Present me posts her self-indulgent, messy fics like a man!!!!!
> 
> Although my apologies in advance bc I hurt my own feelings with this.

In truth he didn’t come around until early childhood. Little kids are so prideful, thinking they are the center of the universe. He popped into existence at two, formed from Thomas’ first self-centered thought.

He liked working with Creativity best. Creativity made the best things and whenever he did good they were given lots of attention. He liked attention. Creativity didn’t seem to care much either way, just creating for the sake of creating, which is why they made such good friends. One to take in the complements and note what makes more compliments and one to actually use them all.

Then hormones came, and with them, changes. Cute boys were all over the place, and suddenly Deceit was shoving him down, down, down. Away from all the pretty people.

Depression showed up, helping to shove him away, and bolstering Vigilance until he turned into Anxiety. He was shoved away, deep into the subconscious. He hated it.

He tried changing himself, to see it that would work for them, to see if that would allow him to come back, but no. No, they hated him and all he stood for now. He was selfishness, ugly and deformed and greedy for attention and power and prestige. He was a king in name alone.

Creativity was the only one who didn’t push him away and he sought refuge in his friend’s room. Creativity never turned him out, never told the others he was visiting. In fact, Creativity himself seemed to be in his room more and more.

His curiosity insatiable and his foolishness boundless, he asked about it.

Creativity sighed and his shoulders slumped as if he were carrying the weight of the world.

“I’m fading.” Creativity said simply. “Thomas is becoming a chemical engineer and his creative pursuits are all on the backburner. The others haven’t even noticed, but… I’m drifting. Fading away as I become obsolete.”

Creativity always did have a way with words.

“But Thomas is still a creative person!” He protested. “He’ll always need you! For… creative solutions to problems and such.”

“Maybe so.” Creativity said sadly. “But such things will be taken over by Logic. I guess fading isn’t the right word it’s more… scattering. Bits and pieces of me will float away and take a new residence in everyone else. The parts of me that aren’t needed… those will float in the subconscious forever.”

He scowled. “You talk as if you’ve given up.”

“I have, I guess.” Creativity said. “The passion isn’t there anymore. If Thomas doesn’t need me, there’s no reason for me to stay.”

“I need you.”

Creativity smiled at him, but they sat in silence for the rest of the night.

The next time he visited Creativity was already disintegrating. His body looked like it were made of sand that was slowly blowing away.

He shouted wordlessly and scrambled to help, but it was too late. Soon nothing was left but a pile of once-creative sand in a room that was slowly growing dimmer. He cried, only stopping as he watched the color leech out of a room that once held more life than any other.

A sudden sense of bold urgency filled him and he gathered the sands that were still shifting and placed them in a nearby container, careful not to let a single grain get away.

“I don’t know how this works.” He admitted to the ashes. “So this might take me a few tries. But I am not just going to let you die out. If I have to carry both our burdens single-handedly then that is what I’m going to do.”

He tried everything. Direct skin contact, ingestion, prayer, anything he could think of he attempted. He didn’t sleep for two days.

When he finally did crash onto Creativity’s bed he woke up to find the ashes were gone.

He cried for hours, wailing and lamenting and grieving.

And then he got an idea.

He was so startled by this that he nearly fell off the bed. At the very least he stopped crying.

He swallowed dryly and focused an energy that didn’t feel quite his. And summoned a small notebook. Then a pencil. Then an eraser. And a pen. And a sharpener and a box of crayons and markers and colored paper and paints and a quill and some ink and stamps and anything else he could think of. He sobbed with relief from the middle of a sea of arts and crafts.

It had worked. He didn’t know what, he didn’t know how. But it had worked.

A few more ideas trickled into his head. They felt… strange. Foreign but not altogether unfamiliar. He knew how to do things now. Knew how to think things, new things rather than just things about how he and Thomas were better than everyone else.

And he couldn’t wait to test them all.

He clapped experimentally and all the supplies vanished. He hurriedly cleaned his face of tears so he could get to work.

He paused in front of the mirror, looking down at his kingly attire. It wouldn’t work anymore, not really. It didn’t fit.

Kings existed to further the plot and then die. They were either evil tyrants or useless fathers, sometimes an unholy combination of the two. That wasn’t him. Not anymore. Not to mention, the regal black of his outfit didn’t quite mesh with the pure, untainted white that Creativity had worn.

But was he really ready to give up the throne entirely? Maybe something less grandiose, but better. Something noble and strong…

A prince. A prince who would throw himself into combat at a moment’s notice as long as it meant someone else got away. A rescuerer of noble blood and an adventurer with romantic tendencies. A prince would be perfect.

He snapped again and his outfit shifted. The black lightened and the intricate embroideries faded. His cloak shrank into nothingness, as did all his fur trimmings. His sash lightened in weight and color until it was more a scarf around him than the heavy thing he’d been wearing before.

When it was finished he was looking at a man with a bright red sash and a gold cord hanging off one shoulder of his white tunic. White for Creativity. Red for Pride. And gold for… whatever he was now. The amalgamation of the two.

He took a deep breath, trying to brace himself for… everything. The rest of his life.

A thought occurred to him and he lifted the tunic gently, turning to look at his back in the mirror.

His scales were still there, the orange color mocking him from it’s spot on his lower back. He glared at them, the physical reminder that he had not started out where he was now.

He let the tunic fall back, covering them. Whatever, he’d just wear long shirts. Crop-tops would be cute, but ultimately reveal too much. No one should question why the source of creativity was a dark side. No one could know they killed him. It would break them, and far more importantly Thomas.

Maybe he’d tell them one day. If he felt vengeful enough over his dead friend. Maybe.

But Creativity wouldn’t have wanted that. He loved them, even when they stopped loving him. Well that was their mistake. One he’d make sure they didn’t repeat.

He sifted through the papers on Cre- on his desk. Most had gone blank now, but there were a few scattered ideas that hadn’t had the chance to fully fade. He settled on some that he liked and pulled them out of the mess.

One was a list of names. A short list, but a list. In the corner was a note reading: Suggest to Logic and Morality. Ideas for self on back.

He summoned a cork board and stuck the paper to it. Names were important, but right now a bit of a touchy subject. He’d come back to that idea.

The second was a list of ideas to use on that app Thomas’ friend had shown him. Vain or something. They were short and mostly harmless, but still required creativity more than anything. There were pages of them. Some good, some bad.

He clipped them together and hung them on the board as well. Good or bad, he would do all of them, maybe more. It was a good way to get creative thinking back in Thomas’ life and part of him winced at the knowledge that Creativity himself would never be able to implement it.

The last one was a flyer for a local theater asking for actors. Thomas had grabbed it unthinkingly and shoved it in his bag to forget about.

He happened to know that Thomas was a fantastic actor, and that wasn’t just his opinion for once. Thomas was good, and everyone who saw him act said so. Come hell or high water Thomas was trying out for that show.

He started sorting through the other pages, separating the ones that were blank from the ones that still had writing on them. He had two sizable piles of each when a knock sounded on his door.

“Creativity? You okay in there, kiddo?” A voice asked from the other side of the door. “We haven’t seen you in a couple days and you’ve been pretty quiet for a while now.”

He froze, a thousand bitter words dripping from the tip of his tongue and waiting to be unleashed at the ones who had let his best friend scatter into nothingness.

He swallowed them, pouring fake cheerfulness into his voice instead.

“I’m quite well, actually!” He called back. “Got a few new ideas I’d like to run by you two. Nothing big, don’t worry. Just a few things to… keep Thomas hopeful.”

The voice outside paused. “Okay. Are you sure you’re alright in there?”

“Positive.” he paused himself. “Well actually, now that I think about it I’m quite peckish. Would you mind-”

“Oh, dinner’s almost ready!” The voice interrupted. “Logic said he’d cook tonight and well, I dunno I just missed you. Wanted to check in, I guess.”

Little late for that, isn’t it? He shook the bitter thought out of his mind, and strode towards the door. In his hand he held the ideas for the Vein app.

“Excellent! I’ll accompany you downstairs then. Maybe we can talk over these ideas over Logic’s burned casserole.”

He opened the door to a playfully disapproving Morality. His heart twinged to notice the sweater Depression had given Thomas’ heart was still wrapped around his shoulders. Morality tapped his foot.

“Now, now.” Morality said. “We don’t know that it’s burned.”

He was about to retort when a loud curse echoed from the kitchen. He gave Morality a smirk and Morality sighed.

“Okay, maybe now we know it’s burnt.”

Morality started back down the hall and he followed, still gripping the papers in one hand.

“I love the new outfit, by the way.” Morality said. “Is that what you were doing in your room for three days?”

He smiled at Morality’s “subtle” probing.

“No, actually,” He said. “The outfit was more a… happy accident I guess. I was changing things up to try and get some brainstorming done and it was one of the things that stuck.”

“Brainstorming?” Morality repeated. “Is that why you’ve got so much paper right now?”

He nodded. “Indeed! And more still in my room. This is all one idea that I wanted to discuss with you both tonight.”

Morality let out a low whistle as they entered the kitchen. “That’s a pretty brain-stormy mind, kiddo.”

He preened. “Thank you.”

Logic and Morality agreed to the idea, in the end. They decided it would give him something to do, but wouldn’t be too time consuming for Thomas. After the sides had a dinner of charred chicken casserole Thomas made his first vine.

It started out slow. Not all of Creativity’s ideas were good, sad as he was to admit, and most of the good ones didn’t come until later.

The other two pitied him for it, he knew that. It was probably the only reason they’d looked over his list of names for them all. Morality chose Patton, for pathos and paternity, and Logic chose Logan, for logos. He chose Roman for himself, romance and romanticism. For the empire that had fallen.

This surprised the other two.

“Kiddo, you’ve got this one circled a lot!” Patton said, pointing at the name in question. “There’s even a little star by it.”

“Roman isn’t even on this list.” Logan added. “Why choose something else when you so clearly had a favorite.”

Roman shrugged at them. “I found the name while doing some last-minute searching and fell in love.”

Ethan, the circled name read. For ethos: ethics, beliefs and aspirations. Ethan didn’t belong to him. It never had. Ethan had belonged to and been circled by a trait that had allowed himself to scatter and disintegrate. Ethan was dead.

Slowly, the Vines took off. Before anyone knew what had happened Thomas had an entire career based on Vine and YouTube. He was also acting more, performing in play after play, singing and dancing until the crowd cheered and the spotlights faded.

Roman loved every second of it. Even if it caused Logan to glower and grimace. Even if it caused Anxiety to spike and move (back?) into the forefront of the mind. Okay, maybe that part wasn’t quite so lovable.

But the creative side of Thomas was finally getting the reins. The control. The love that he deserved. So what if it boosted the ego a bit too? It’s not as if anyone had ever noticed before.

They probably never would, or at least they wouldn’t listen to the one that did.

Anxiety was suspicious. He knew that much. All Roman had done was ask if he had scales like Deceit, an innocent enough question he’d thought.

In truth his question had a different purpose. It had been some time since he’d looked at his own scales and he’d wanted to know… Anxiety had been Vigilance once, he’d changed. Roman wondered if he’d grown scales to match that change and if there was any hope of his own disappearing.

Anxiety had recoiled from him with a disgusted no, crushing Roman’s fragile hope. He’d brushed it off, pretending he’d wanted to know if it was something all dark sides had or something singular to Deceit.

Anxiety glared at him sharply and said it was the latter before he slunk back to his room.

Thomas’ next panic attack almost felt directed at him.

No matter. Roman had another brilliant idea, this time for YouTube, and he wasn’t about to let Mopey Myrtle darken his day.

His idea boiled down to himself, Logan, and Patton popping into the real world briefly to work out issues with Thomas. Rather like Inside Out only with more out than inside. Patton liked it. Logan said it was a good idea, but that they’d need to withhold some information to avoid overwhelming Thomas.

Anxiety was against it, but he was against anything with a bit of risk.

Just like the Vines, the Sanders Sides videos got a slow start. Then Joan offered to help out and they took off at light speed.

Anxiety, despite hating the videos initially, became a staple in them. Hardly a video passed without him adding input of some kind, much to the delight of Thomas’ fans. If he was being honest, Roman felt bitter.

Who was Anxiety to garner so much attention when both Creativity and Pride had been shut away to further some “greater good” for so long? Who was Anxiety to plant himself where he didn’t belong and take root? Roman saw himself in Anxiety, and he hated it. None of the flawlessness was there. Just the mistakes.

When Anxiety ducked out, Roman figured it was for the better. Who needed fear when there was dream chasing to be done?

It wasn’t until he was in Anxiety’s room, talking it all out with everyone else, that he listened to that voice in his head that was telling him how hypocritical that really was. That voice, so foreign and familiar, sounded an awful lot like Ethan.

He gave Anxiety the words he wished he’d heard, the words he wished someone had said to him years ago, when he was Pride, when Ethan was Creativity. Words that promised Anxiety he was necessary and wanted.

Only to be undercut by the dreadful buzzing in his stomach that made him beg for reassurance.

Anxiety saved him, saved all of them. Anxiety was accepted, and told them his name. Virgil, for the long-forgotten role of vigilance.

Roman covered this realization with mock confusion and laughter at Patton’s joke.

Privately, he agreed with Thomas. It was the perfect name.

Life continued on. More videos got made, both for Sanders Sides and other series Roman had both created and found in Ethan’s old notebooks. Ideas he’d had no time to expand or outlet for creating.

Roman had both and was determined every last one would see the light of day. It was Creativity’s legacy and Ethan deserved it, even if Roman was sometimes… less than enough to carry out the vision.

That was something he had expected, honestly. He wasn’t Creativity origionally, and it was foolish to expect himself to always live up to the standards the role demanded. What he hadn’t expected was the feelings this failure gave him.

He hadn’t started out as creativity, but he was that now… shouldn’t that be enough? Shouldn’t that keep him from failing and falling flat on his face? Wouldn’t that be enough to keep Thomas in need of both his Creativity and his Pride? Wasn’t he both of that? Was he just too stupid to be either one? Or was he now something else… something neither instead of both?

The questions hurt. Almost as much as the knowledge that if he asked for help with them it would be given, at least until they found out that he was a lying imposter.

A dark side who didn’t belong among them.

So the questions stayed with Roman, burrowed deep in his chest and buried with his secret. He knew his family loved him, and most days that was enough.

And they were a family now, no denying that. He held his resentment for a long time, but he knew that growing bitter would only hurt the memory of Ethan, tarnish the legacy Roman was working so hard to create and preserve.

The questions, the feelings, all of it burned in his chest, but letting them out wasn’t an option, not if he wanted Ethan- wanted Creativity to get the long-deserved recognition.

The secret stayed buried, and would stay buried with any luck. But luck had never liked Roman very much.

Deceit showed up, demanding his own spotlight. It had been years since Roman saw the darker aspects and desperately tried to act as if it had been even longer. Unfortunately, he’d caught on late and Deceit’s eyes glittered strangely when looking at him. Glittered with recognition.

Deceit complemented his outfit and Roman pretended to care. He wasn’t wholly stupid. He knew it was an insult. Much like how he knew Deceit hated being called kind.

When he sunk into his room later Deceit was there, waiting.

“You stayed in the subconscious.” he said accusingly. “You’re really Creativity.”

“I am.” Roman said simply. “Now at least. The old Creativity… went through the ringer. I had to take over so Thomas didn’t lose that part of himself.”

“Oh sure. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the idea of getting out of the cold, endless dark. I certainly wouldn’t do anything to escape that, especially killing your so-called best friend.”

Roman moved suddenly, pining Deceit to the wall.

“I didn’t kill him.” He said through gritted teeth. “He was fading. Dying. I scooped up what was left and absorbed it into myself. We’re… I’m one now.”

“That’s what I think.” Deceit spat. “You were such a horrible king, Pride, now look at you. How the weak fall.”

Roman snarled at him. “Don’t tell the others. Whatever you may think you can’t tell them.”

Deceit’s mouth twisted into a smile. “Oh? And what if I don’t?”

“If you do I’ll be making myself a new snakeskin belt.” Roman threatened.

He summoned his sword and pressed it against Deceit’s neck, just so his point was clear.

“I’m creativity now,” He continued. “That is my job and this is my family. Mess with that and you will find yourself on the unpleasant side of my blade.”

Deceit chuckled, low and threatening. “Alright, I won’t agree to that. Though I must say I’m filled with hopelessness about my own place here.”

Roman let him go and stepped back warily.

“How so?” He asked.

“Well, if they already have one relationship based on lies, they certainly don’t have room for another.” Deceit laughed.

Roman growled and lunged again, this time at the empty air where Deceit had been.

“It’s not a lie.” He told himself. “I’m creativity now. Just because… Just because of how I got here… I’m creativity now. That’s not any less valid because of what I was before.

Lies, his mind hissed back.

He worked harder to drown them. He argued with Logan, made a song off their deal with Crofters, wrote script after script after script. As long as he worked hard enough, his secret was safe.

Until Depression showed up.

Patton adopted Depression immediately, recognizing that he, like Virgil, just needed to be listened to. Logan and Virgil were a bit slower, but eventually accepted him too. Roman kept his distance.

He didn’t need someone questioning the recognition in Depression’s eyes. Not to mention he knew all the ways that used to help Depression, and if he spent too long around him he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from using them, which only raise suspicion.

Although it soon became apparent that his avoidance was only raising it’s own questions. Finally Patton had enough of it.

“Roman Creativity Sanders you get down here and have a meal with your family!” he yelled.

Roman slunk downstairs with a wince. “Geez, Padre. Was the full name really necessary?”

“It got you down here, didn’t it.” Patton said, for once not acknowledging being addressed as a father. “And after dinner you and I are going to sit down and discuss exactly why you’ve been in your room so long, young man.”

Roman swallowed nervously. “Of- Of course.”

Dinner passed by all too quickly that night. He avoided looking at Depression, not wanting to face the questions he knew were there. He ignored the chatter, during which Depression chose his name as Brennan. For sorrow.

He avoided Patton’s glare for avoiding Brennan, too.

After dinner Patton dragged him to his room by the wrist. He sat Roman on the bed and locked the door behind them. No one could come in now, by door or by sinking in. And Roman couldn’t get out.

Patton looked down at him, arms crossed and face in a rare, angry frown.

“Spill.” He demanded. “What’s your problem with Brennan?”

Roman swallowed, mouth tasting dry and acrid. “I… it’s irrational. Stupid.”

“I’m not Logan, honey. We only look alike.” Patton said. “I’m not going to judge you for feelings, so spill.”

Roman hesitated. “I… you have to promise, whatever I say never leaves this room.”

“Roman-”

“I mean it Patton!” he interrupted. “What I’m about to say… what I’m considering telling you… it could- will change how you think of me. I… whatever you think of me afterward, I’m too much of a coward to lose everyone I love. So please, don’t tell anyone else.”

He hesitantly raised his eyes to Patton’s. There was confusion in Patton’s eyes, swirled with trepidation and maybe a pinch of sympathy.

“I… I promise.” he said finally. “You have my word.”

Roman nodded and took a deep, shaking breath. He reached up and started undoing his jacket.

“I’ve been avoiding De- Brennan for a while now, but I guess it was foolish to assume I could do so forever. In truth, I was afraid.”

He peeled off his jacket, followed by his undershirt. His hands shook as he started unwinding the bandages around his stomach and back.

“Afraid because… he recognizes me… from before. And he has the potential to tell you all… well, tell you all what I’m about to tell you. And threats don’t work on him like they do with Deceit because he doesn’t really fear death.

“I don’t know how much you know about dark sides,” He continued, pulling off the last strip of his trusty Ace Bandages. “But there’s an attribute each one has, a sort of marker. Most hide it in one shape or another, Brennan’s are under his sweatshirt, but I don’t think he actually hates them that much. Deceit flaunts his. I think he takes pride in being two-faced.

“I bury mine under layer after layer. Not because they’re ugly, honestly I quite like them. But they represent a life I’ve abandoned and a person I’ve vowed not to be anymore.”

Roman set aside the last of the bandages. He stood and turned sharply, giving Patton full view of his back, and of the scales that rest just behind his waist.

He heard Patton gasp sharply.

“You… you’re-”

“Pride.” Roman finished for him. “A dark side.”

“N-No.” Patton said. “That’s not right.”

Roman turned again, facing Patton. Confusion was swirling in his eyes.

“I’ve seen Pride.” Patton said. “It’s been years but I’ve seen him. Separate from y- from Creativity. Separate but friendly. Pride and Creativity. You hardly ever saw one without the other being close by. I- I’d wondered where he’d gone but… I always moved on from the thought. Why…”

Roman gave him a sad smile. “You just forgot, Pat. Everyone did. That’s why no one questioned it.”

Patton walked past him and sunk onto the bed, staring at the floor in thought.

“What happened?” He asked, voice small and broken.

“You won’t like it.” Roman warned.

“Tell me anyway.”

Roman sighed. “Creativity and I were best friends, that much is true. Any spare time we had we spent together. But as time passed Thomas was forced further and further into the closet, and eventually the other dark sides turned on me. They stuck me in the subconscious where I wouldn’t cause trouble. Their main goal is self-preservation, after all, and I was threatening that goal.

“I spent all my time with Creativity, but he was being threatened, too. In his own way. He was being strangled by the utter lack of creative freedom in Thomas’ life. He started… fading. Scattering. Becoming obsolete. He… he was dying, Patton.”

Patton let out a choked sob. Roman rushed to his side and started rubbing circles in his back.

“We did that.” Patton said between sobs. “We… me and Logan. We did that. We thought it would be best, thought it would help more people. We killed him.”

He raised a horrified, tearstained face to Roman. “You must hate us so much.”

Roman hesitated. “I did, for a little while. And I’d be lying if I said that particular emotion didn’t rear it’s head from time to time. But I’ve since learned that there was very little you two could have done to prevent it. You made the right choices for the time and by the time I realized what was happening it was too late to stop it.”

Patton took another shaky breath and Roman knew he was steeling himself for the rest of the story. He took the cue and continued.

“I wasn’t okay with it, of course.” He said. “I fought his apathy until the end. But… there was nothing to be done. I cried when I found him, and spent the next three days finding a way to… well to absorb the leftovers, for lack of better phrasing. Honestly, I don’t even know how I did it in the end. Once it was done I started looking through what he’d left behind, and found my three favorite ideas, which I brought to you and Logan with what I felt was a righteous fury. Vines, plays, and names.”

“Ethan…” Patton said breathily. “That’s… that’s why you didn’t take the circled name. Because you never circled it.”

Roman blinked in surprise. “You remember it.”

Patton barked out a laugh. “I may not be the most intelligent side but I… I remember that day. You- Creativity had been listless for so long. It was the first time in a while I’d seen you so passionate. But I guess you were never the listless one, huh?”

Roman shook his head sadly. “No. I- if it helps any, I don’t think he’s really gone. Even if he wasn’t… part of me, he would have integrated with everything else. Become part of Logan, you, and everyone else. He would never have truly left us.”

Patton nodded stiffly, but Roman could see he was still holding back tears.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

Patton looked up at him sharply. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” He repeated. “I made a rash decision. A selfish one. I’ve tried so hard to make sure Ethan didn’t die in vain that I denied everyone else the right to mourn him. Some prince I am. A prince wouldn’t be so… prideful.”

“Stop that.” Patton said.

He gripped Roman’s face in his hands and forced their eyes to meet.

“You’re right. Ethan isn’t really gone.” He said. “He lives on through you. You might not have been born as Creativity but you’ve done a bang-up job since you took over. Are you perfect? No, but no one is. You’ve had amazing ideas that help Thomas to make a difference in the world.”

“They- they aren’t all mine.” Roman stuttered. “Most of Ethan’s ideas faded with him, but… some stayed and I’ve tried to use all of them.”

“More’s the better!” Patton cried “Then you’ve been making sure his last thoughts saw the light of day. You are his legacy, Roman. And you’ve done a wonderful job at being so.”

The dam Roman had been holding shut for so long broke and he collapsed into Patton’s arms. He spent the rest of the night in Patton’s room, eventually crying himself to sleep.


End file.
